Dive In Me
by ScarlettWoman710
Summary: Secrets and lies came between them, twisting who they were and what they meant to each other, but one thing never changed - once upon a time, they were just a boy and a girl, happily together on the beach. Written for the AHS fic exchange for Captivation!


**Title: **Dive in Me

**Author: **ScarlettWoman710

**Summary: **_Time had marched on, as it always does. Secrets and lies came between them, twisting who they were and what they meant to each other, but one thing never changed - once upon a time, they were just a boy and a girl, happily together on the beach._

**Spoilers/Warning/Triggers: **Language, sexual situations, attempted suicides

**Author Notes:** This fic was written for the AHS fic exchange and is named for the Nirvana song, "Dive." The prompt that I received from the LOVELY AND AMAZING Captivation was "First Dates." This is... an award winning fic! Haha. It's the co-winner of the "Favorite Story Overall" and winner of the "Favorite Fluff" award. Thanks to whoever nominated and voted for me! And thanks to all who wrote beautiful things from the exchange and to the incredible **Jandjsalmon** for serving as our fearless leader! It was so fun to be a part of. If you haven't read any of the fics yet, ohh boy are you in for a treat when the fics make their way over here. They're amazing! For example, as I said it's the co-winner of Favorite Story Overall - and it shares the award with the lovely and amazingly talented **Gray Glube**'s _Toska_, which is... I don't even have words for how good it is, guys. Anyway, away we go!

* * *

**October 31, 2001**

It wasn't coincidence that led Ben Harmon to look through the Los Angeles real estate listings in a last ditch effort to save his marriage as it imploded. It wasn't the siren call of the ocean that pulled him there, nor was it the fundamental need to "Go West, young man, and seek your fortune" that had been seemingly ingrained in so many American males. He didn't want to be a surfer or star in a major motion picture. It wasn't even the subconscious need to flee the scene of the crime, to literally get as far away from Hayden and the situation in Boston as quickly as possible. You could say it was fate – and you might be right – but there was an even simpler explanation.

The Harmon's had been to L.A. before.

A lifetime ago (a literal lifetime ago) the Harmon family had gone on vacation to California. Ben and Vivien were still happy, proud to be blessed with their precocious six-year old daughter, Violet. She was very bright and pulling her out of school for the tail end of October and the first few days of November wasn't much of a concern, so the family packed their suitcases and headed to California to spend a few days at Disneyland and exploring the coast.

Violet didn't know how to feel about the vacation. She was missing school – plus. She would be visiting Disneyland for three whole days before they had their flight home – plus. She would get to go to the beach – plus. The only minus was that she would be missing Halloween with her friends and trick-or-treating. She had dressed as a vampire last year (and was so, so scary) and she wanted to try and outdo herself this year by trying some of the monster make-up she had seen the big kids wear. Still, she would get to take her first plane ride and meet Mickey Mouse, so she figured missing Halloween was a fair trade.

Her parents decided the best way to minimize the whole "no trick-or-treating" business was to completely avoid the holiday all together. They decided to spend the day at the beach, a small, rocky, coved area about twenty minutes outside of Los Angeles. There were a few other families scattered on the beach, but for the most part the Harmon's had the black rocks, the gentle waves, and the soft sand all to themselves.

Violet had decided to go exploring. Her parents had started making kissey faces at one another and even at six it was enough to turn her stomach. She promised she wouldn't go too far and would under no circumstances go in the ocean and then set out to crawl over the rocks.

She had found an entrance to a little cave and was feeling adventurous so she ducked her head and went in. To her disappointment, it wasn't a real cave – just a circle of rocks that let the sunlight in through a hole in the top – and she wasn't alone.

"Hey," a voice said softly.

She spun around. There was a boy – way older than her – sitting in the white sand, leaning his back against a rock. He had on black and white shoes, a t-shirt with red and white stripes, and blond hair that flopped in front of his eyes. She pushed her own hair away from her face instinctively, just looking at him peer at her through blond fringe made her feel like she couldn't see properly.

"Hi," she said nervously. She shuffled backwards toward the entrance of the circle of rocks.

"Don't be scared, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "What's your name?"

Her name almost tumbled past her lips before she could stop it, but she remembered the lessons her parents had drilled into her many times before. "Never give your name to a stranger." She could almost hear an echo of her father's voice as she looked at the boy in front of her.

"Alice," she said finally, then the corner of her mouth twitched up into a smile. Just like Alice in Wonderland. It was her favorite book.

"Well, hey, Alice," he said. "Can I call you Al?" She shrugged and he smiled. "Okay, Al. Want to play cards? I've got a deck in my pocket."

Violet considered his offer. He was a stranger and a big kid. That was enough to give her pause. But he was also nice and – though Violet was too young to fully appreciate it – he was handsome. She wanted to stay and talk to the boy on the beach.

"I don't know how to play any games," she said matter-of-factly, sitting on the sand across from him.

"That's okay," he said easily. "I can teach you. Ever play rummy?" She shook her head and the boy dealt each of them a hand.

It wasn't the section of beach that Tate normally visited, but the little corner of sand that he preferred to spend his time on had been overrun with families when he'd gone there to relax that morning. He didn't have anywhere else to go so he paid a cabbie a twenty pilfered from his mother's purse to drive a few miles up the coast to visit the beach he had taken Addie to a few times while he was still alive. He hadn't set out to make any new friends that Halloween – and he sure as hell didn't want to run into any old ones – but the little girl that had wandered into his sanctuary seemed like a sweet enough kid and if he was going to be honest with himself, he was lonely. It would be nice to talk to someone for a change. Beau was never much of a conversationalist, Addie's visits were infrequent, he hated talking to his mother and he didn't really spend any time talking to anyone else in the house. Nobody even lived in it right now so he didn't have anything to distract him. It would be nice to talk to someone, _anyone,_ new for once, even if it was a six year old.

She looked up at him expectantly. "What do I do now?"

The corner of his mouth pulled into a half grin. "You draw a card, and discard," he said, showing her with his own cards.

They played one round, then another, and another after that. They were just starting a fourth when Violet's stomach gurgled.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Hungry?" he asked wryly.

Violet giggled. "Yeah," she admitted. "Do you want a sandwich? We packed bunches."

Tate considered this. He didn't need to eat, not really, but with the house's current state of unoccupation he hadn't gotten the chance. He missed food even if he didn't have to have to it survive. "Sure," he said. The little girl smiled at him and jumped up, calling a "be right back!" over her should as she ducked out the rocks.

When she returned, she had bundled half the contents of the cooler her parents had packed in her arms. When her mom had asked what she was doing, she said she had made a friend and they were going to have lunch. Ben and Vivien were pleased that she had met a little playmate. Violet was such a wonderful little girl but she never got on well with kids her own age.

"I brought lots of stuff," she said breathlessly, opening her arms into his lap. "Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, chocolate milk, and cookies. My parents aren't hungry."

He grinned at her. Violet liked to see the boy smile. "Thanks," he said, taking a huge bite of a sandwich, making her giggle. They ate in the sand, silent but for the noises of chewing and swallowing. When she tried and failed to open the spout on the little container of chocolate milk, he plucked it from her hands and did it for her.

"Thanks," she said gratefully. "I can never do it at school. The stupid kids in my class make fun of me."

Tate frowned at her. He already felt protective of this little wisp of a girl, blond hair in pigtails and huge eyes that followed his every movement. "Kids used to make fun of me too," he admitted.

She tilted her head and gazed at him. "How did you make them stop?" she asked.

He gave her a small smile. "It's a long story," he said, brushing the crumbs off his hands. "Want to play another round?"

They played another two rounds before Violet stood up. "I better go," she said sadly. "My parents are probably going to want to leave soon."

"Okay," he said agreeably, picking up the cards. He should probably be going home soon anyway, he'd love to take Addie for ice cream before time ran out on his reprieve. "It was nice to meet you, Alice," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake it. "Good luck with the kids at school."

She smiled widely at him and ducked out of the rocks, heading back to the blanket her parents occupied. It wasn't until they were in the car on the way to their hotel that she realized that she hadn't even asked him his name.

Things changed as Violet got older. Her hair got longer, darker, became more the color of honey than the color of straw it was when she was six. Things in her family changed too – her parents grew apart, first by the death of their unborn child and then her father's affair. Watching her family dissolve slowly into nothingness changed the way Violet looked at the world. She was no longer the happy child that Tate had met on the beach years before – and she was completely unrecognizable to him in both appearance and attitude when she turned up in his old bathroom dragging razor blades across her arm.

For Violet's part, she thought of the boy from the beach from time to time. Sometimes she wondered if she had made him up, if it was a hallucination born from too much time in the sun and an overactive imagination. His face twisted in her mind – the eyes changing color, the hair getting longer and then shorter, his facial features taking on the characteristics of other boys she knew. As the years went by he appeared in her thoughts less and less frequently, slipping deeper into the recesses of her memory. By the time her family had moved into the Murder House in Los Angeles, she couldn't remember him at all – not even when he stood in front of her and told her that if she was planning on killing herself she should probably lock the door.

Time had marched on, as it always does. Secrets and lies came between them, twisting who they were and what they meant to each other, but one thing never changed - once upon a time, they were just a boy and a girl, happily together on the beach.

* * *

**December 25, 2011**

There was nothing more painful then watching her turn away from him.

Tate remembered their first date, lying on the beach as the fire flickered beside them and the tide rolled in. She had wanted him then, he knew. When her tiny hand had crept between them to grope him, it was all he could do to pull his body back and tilt his hips to the side so she'd only grasp the fleshy softness of his thigh instead of his dick. He didn't want her to know how badly he wanted her too. If she knew, then it would be hard to come up with an explanation for why he couldn't sink into her heat, take what she was offering. All he wanted to do was find out if she was as wet and tight as he was in his fantasies but he couldn't take her virginity, not when she had a pulse and he didn't.

Her turning him into a better person had started then. It continued now.

The voices inside his head and his own crushing desire to be near her were combining to form a chorus that demanded he go into the living room, throw Violet over his shoulder and take her away from her parents and everyone else so she could be his and his alone. Sure, she'd want him to go away or think about disappearing but when he'd curl his fingers inside of her she'd change her mind. He'd lick her until she cried, make her scream his name, and every time she thought about leaving him he'd make her cum again.

Fantasies. That was all he had left, now.

As he watched her decorate the tree with her family he noticed that she kept looking over her shoulder to glance at him. It made hope flare in his chest. She felt the same emotional pull that he did, like a moth to a flame.

He couldn't make it up to her, the fact that he had been either directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of her and everyone in her family. He could, however, try and show that he had changed. No more taunting Chad. No more getting pissed off and killing the other ghosts for sport. No more weird shit. No more talking to Hayden, either, no matter how lonely and desperate for someone to talk to he was. Violet hated the bitch and if she thought that he and Hayden were even acquaintances it would be enough to put her off.

He turned to her. "Go away," he muttered, and Ben's whore vanished.

He turned back to the Harmon family, and contemplated what he could to to show her how much he loved her. There were things she liked, things that she had mentioned. There were ways he could try to make her life more bearable. It wouldn't be easy, and it would take time, but one day she would see how much he loved her. One day she would love him in return.

After all, he had forever to wait.

* * *

**April 8, 2011**

It's Easter in the Murder House, not that it matters. Every single day is exactly the same as the day before it. Violet doesn't care about the holiday at all - this one or the Christmas that her parents forced her to celebrate - but she's doing all she can to make them happy because deep down she knows that their deaths are her fault. Well, maybe not her mother. That's all on Ben and his decision to come to California. But her father's death? That's Violet's fault. She should have protected him. She should have been willing to move into the apartment her mother picked out after the home invasion. Hell, maybe if she would have gone, her mother would have been in a hospital when she delivered that baby instead of being stuck with Dr. Frankenstein as her doctor.

She was wearing a wearing a pink sundress and hunting through the yard for eggs, ducking under branches and lifting up flowers as she searched for bits of neon plastic. The whole thing was stupid but after she had managed to find one egg behind a stone in the garden she had cracked it open to reveal a brand new Zippo lighter. She didn't know how her parents had managed to get one, but she appreciated the effort. When she held it out to them, surprised, they winked and told her that the prizes in her eggs were more up her alley than the bits of chocolate she used to get. Her parents had finally realized that nothing makes you grow up more than being dead.

She pushed the branches of a wide oak aside and crept into a little alcove that the tree and the wall of the garden made. She was completely hidden from her parents eyes, thank God, because Tate was there waiting for her.

She drew in a sharp breath. "Go aw-"

"Wait," he cut her off, pleading. "I'll go away in a second, I promise. I just wanted to give you something first."

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from saying all the things she wanted to. _Fuck off. I hate you. I love you. I miss you. I need you. Never come near me again. I wish I had never met you. Don't ever leave me again._ They were all true and all lies at the same time, so there wasn't a point to saying a single one.

"What is it?" She asked finally, keeping her eyes cast down at the grass.

He said nothing, didn't move, silence was her only answer. She didn't want to play his stupid fucking games. She looked up, ready to tell him to go away when she saw that he was gone. The item that was left where he was standing was a small potted orchid.

She loved orchids. Not violets, the flower that was her namesake. Orchids. White, feminine, beautiful. If she took care of it, it would grow forever.

She had told them she liked them once, in passing. She hadn't thought he'd been paying attention.

The real kindness of the gift was that she was alone to enjoy it. He had vanished. She walked over to it and picked it up, tracing the soft white of the petals with her finger. Without him there to watch her like a hawk she could appreciate the gesture. She tried to fight it but finally gave in to the small smile that started to form on her face.

She blinked and found herself in her old room. She set the plant on a shelf near the window, the flowers almost glowing in the afternoon sunlight. Another blink and she was outside, off to hunt for more Easter eggs.

* * *

**June 19, 2014**

Tate was staring at the ceiling of the attic, watching dust motes spin and twirl in the evening sun. This was the time of day he liked best. The sky did such beautiful things at eight o'clock in the summer time. It's not that daylight didn't have the same properties in December, it's just that it didn't seem to _shimmer_ like it does in June. Twinkle, maybe. It's something he would have never said to anyone else because it's too fucking girly to even think about but he loves it just the same and allows himself to enjoy it when he's all alone.

And he was all alone. Beau gone into hiding, not corporeal at the moment. The family that lived in the house now had gone off to the little league games of the oldest boy. He's twelve years old and already a jock like all the other jocks Tate used to hate. He's already got the faint curve of muscle to his shoulders. Tate would be worried about him sharing a house with Violet but the boy was still too young and he was positive the family will be long gone before the boy got old enough for him to be a viable sexual option for her.

It was hot in the attic but he liked the way that the heat felt around him, oppressive and suffocating. He choked on it as he tried to breathe. He thought briefly about jerking off. The fact that he couldn't get any oxygen would make him cum really hard. He considered it, going through his memory to find an image of Violet that would get him off.

They've started speaking, occasionally. Never more than a passing greeting but it was better than nothing. Not better than the way they used to be, though. The way things used to be involved lots of gentle kisses and cuddling and the feel of her cunt wrapped around his cock and beads of sweat that dripped down her collarbone and over her breasts, slipping over her nipples and dripping onto his chest. There it was. That was a good enough memory to get his cock hard. He reached down, palming it through his jeans. He could remember the way her voice sounded when she was writhing below him, arching her back to meet him. _Tate. Tate. Oh, Tate._

"Tate?"

He propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as he tucked his dick between his legs to hide his hard on. "Violet?"

She heaved herself up from the ladder. "What are you doing up here?"

"Nothing," he said guiltily, wincing again as he squeezed his thighs together, determined not to let his body betray him now that she was finally coming to speak to him. He tried to hide the excitement in his face at the fact that she had sought him out. "Is everything okay? Do you need something?"

She walked over to him and tossed a small package, no bigger than the palm of his hand, onto his stomach. "Here. Happy Birthday."

His brow creased. "How did you know it was my birthday?"

"Constance told me."

He sat up and turned the small box over and over in his hand. "You didn't have to do that," he said quietly.

She blew her bangs out of her face. "Yeah, I know. Just open it, okay?"

He could recognize the fact that she was losing her patience and quickly tore the wrapping off of her gift. "A new deck of cards," he said fondly, rubbing his thumb over the box.

"Yeah, the old set you have is complete shit."

"Thank you," he said. He looked up at her, a small flare of hope blooming in his chest at the self-satisfied look on her face. "Do you... do you want to play?"

She sighed and stood up. "No, Tate. I just wanted you to have something on your birthday. Okay?"

"Okay," he said softly. He slid the cards into his back pocket and watched her as she walked over to the ladder. She knelt at the opening and paused. "Ask me later?" she said, not looking at him.

"What?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "You heard me," she said, narrowing her eyes at him but keeping the hint of a smile on her lips. "Ask me to play later. I'll be around." She didn't wait for a response, just stepped on the ladder and disappeared from his sight.

He grinned and lay back down on the floor. It was the best birthday he'd ever had.

* * *

**November 23, 2017**

"Do you have any sixes?" Tate asked, swaying slightly.

"Go - hic - go fish," Violet said, giggling at her hiccup. She shoved the deck towards him, splaying cards all over the floor. His shoulders shook with laughter as he picked through the cards, finally adding one to his hand.

It was Thanksgiving. The older couple that lived in the house currently had cooked an enormous Thanksgiving dinner and invited all of their friends. They were all intellectuals, debating politics and literature over turkey cooked in exotic spices and side dishes with too many names and ingredients. Saffron rice. Garlic potatoes in juniper berries. The absolute height of pretentiousness. Whatever happened to green bean casserole and stuffing from a box? Violet was amazed they could fit any food in their stomachs at all, considering how full of shit they all were. There was one benefit to the gathering of the pompous assholes - they had each brought several bottles of wine for dinner. The guests had all left and the old couple had gone to bed, leaving Tate and Violet each with a bottle of wine to drink while they nibbled on the leftovers that the couple had been too tired to put away.

If she had to put a name on what they were, she'd call them friends. There was a comfort level that hadn't been there before, an honesty now that there were no secrets left between them. She hadn't forgiven him at all... but then again, he hadn't asked her to. She knew that he still loved her but she decided that she wasn't ready to acknowledge it. If she did, she'd have to look closely at her feelings for him and that was something she wasn't even close to ready for yet. She already felt a disloyalty to her mother for being Tate's friend at all, but the crushing loneliness of life without him was something she was no longer willing to live with. She didn't know if Vivien knew that she was spending time with Tate, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she did based on the narrowed eyes and pointed looks her mother gave her when she had come to find her family after finishing a game of cards with Vivien's rapist. It shattered what was left of her heart every time her mother would look at her that way and then Violet would swear that she'd never go back and she'd ignore Tate forever. Then the emptiness in her heart that went along with time away from him would threaten to swallow her up and she'd go crawling back, hating herself all the while.

She hadn't given in to her most selfish desire yet, though. The thing she wanted most was to climb on top of him and to feel him inside her once more, but she had steadfastly refused. Playing cards with him was one thing. Fucking the boy that fucked her mother was another.

At the moment, her feelings for Tate and what her mother would do were all things that were way too complicated for her to think about. She was buzzed. No, not buzzed. She was fucking drunk. And judging by the way Tate was unsteadily trying to get the pie on his fork into his mouth, he was pretty drunk too. His hand veered toward his teeth, smearing pie on his chin before he successfully managed to take a bite.

She looked at the red berries dotting his chin. She was struck with a sudden urge to crawl over and lick them off.

Tate's eyes focused on her. "What?" he asked innocently. He licked his lips and Violet felt a familiar fire coil in her stomach at the motion.

"Nothing," she said, staring at his mouth. She was so entranced by it that she didn't realize that she was unconsciously acting on her desire to get closer to him until she was practically in his lap.

"Violet?" he whispered.

"Shhhh," she murmured. She leaned forward and ran her tongue along his chin, lapping up the tart berries from the pie.

Tate moaned softly and brought his hands to her waist, squeezing gently. She wiggled against his legs and he pulled her closer.

Suddenly, the enormity of the situation burst through her thoughts. The weight of it combined with the wet slosh of alcohol and the combination of saffron and juniper and made her stomach turn.

"Tate, I don't feel so good," she mumbled into his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her and they disappeared, reappearing in the bathroom. He set her gently on the floor in front of the toilet, pulling her hair away from her face. She rested her head on the toilet seat. She could hear the water running in the background and then felt a cool washcloth against her forehead.

Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes. It wasn't fair, that he could be this person. It wasn't fair that he could be so loving and wonderful and care about her so much and still be a murderer and a rapist. It wasn't fair that she loved him so much and wanted to be with him so badly and that she couldn't do it without paying a tremendous price - her dignity. Her morals. Her love for her mother. Her soul.

"It's okay, Violet. I'm here."

And with that, her stomach roiled and she gagged into the toilet.

He held her hair away from her face, gently rubbing circles into her back. She emptied the contents of her stomach, wishing that the pain and guilt in her heart would go along with it. When she started dry heaving, Tate plucked her from the floor and carried her to her old bedroom - the old couple had kept a spare bed in it, for when they had visitors - and tucked her under the sheets.

"Tate," she whimpered helplessly.

"Do you want me to go?" he said, kneeling down next to the bed.

There were two answers to that question. The one she should say, and the one she wanted to say. She decided to say nothing and let her eyes flutter closed. She heard him fold his legs into a seated position on the floor, and he reached his hand up towards hers on the bed. She felt him hesitate, and she decided she'd allow herself this one kindness and laced her fingers through his. One moment of weakness was allowed today - a day that's meant to celebrate the things were thankful for. Violet Harmon hadn't felt gratitude for a long, long time.

She woke up alone to sunlight streaming through the binds. She could hear water running in the bathroom and knew that he was there, showering or cleaning up after her purge the night before. Her heart ached. There was no way for her to exist in this house. If she gave in and went back to Tate, it would break her mother's heart. If she ignored him to stay loyal to her mother and father, she'd break her own.

And just like last night, she made the conscious decision not to decide anything at all.

The ghosts of Murder House can't die, but they can disappear. They can fold into themselves, drift away for hours or days or weeks on end. They only came out when they wanted to. Moira, Violet and Ben and Vivien stayed corporeal all the time, only hiding to the new inhabitants of the house. Tate only stayed that way because of Violet, she knew from talking to the other ghosts that before she came he'd never appeared much. Other ghosts drifted in and out of nothingness. It was like sleeping, almost, although there would always be a point where someone or something or even the house itself called you back.

She closed her eyes and let her body fade into nothingness. Her last thought before she disappeared was of Tate's hand in hers as she slept.

* * *

**February 14, 2018**

She was gone.

She was gone, and she hadn't come back.

It tore Tate to pieces, it was worse than swallowing razor blades. It was worse than being shot by the cops, worse than Nora forgetting about him, worse than Constance's own brand of motherly "love." It was even worse than when she had left him the first time. At least then, he could follow her from room to room. He could still smell her and watch her smile. This, this absence - it would kill him, if he could die again.

And lord knows he had tried. He killed himself at least twice a day, sometimes three times a day if he was feeling particularly morose. The first time was usually a quiet affair - a solitary vein drained in the bathtub, for example. Sometimes he'd get Beau to suffocate him. Beau was stronger than he looked and thought it was a game. Always, the last thing he thought of was her face.

And every time, he would wake up in a blind rage that he hadn't been able to make his death really stick. Hours later, after alternating between flitting through the house from room to room desperately searching for her and cowering in a corner and pulling his hair out the second suicide attempt would take place. This one was always more violent, born out of the anger that the first attempt had failed and full of the self loathing he constantly felt. He'd stab himself through the eye, smash his head into the brick of the basement. He let Lorraine set him on fire once, out by the garage. The twins had gleefully stood guard with the hose to put out any greenery that happened to catch his flames. The third attempt of the day, if he got that far, brought new meaning to the word pain. On those desperate days he'd dove head first from the roof or gone to Patrick and handed him a fire poker and given him the opportunity to get even. He sometimes thought the more he made it hurt the closer he would come to oblivion.

He could disappear like she did, fade away into the darkness, but then he'd miss her when he came back. Even worse than that, he'd come back and drive her away again. All he wanted was to go away, to not exist. He'd even welcome the fires of Hell if that's what was waiting for him. Whatever the alternative was, it couldn't be worse than this.

All of his various attempts to end his afterlife all started the same way - with a suicide note addressed to Violet. He confessed his crimes and begged for forgiveness. He tried to put everything he'd ever thought into words. He told her about his childhood and high school, about the voices he heard and bullying he'd experienced at the hands of his classmates. He never tried to make excuses and he always accepted responsibility for the things he'd done. At the end of every letter, he told her how sorry he was and how much he loved her. He told her that he had many regrets, but the biggest was that he spoke to her that day in the bathroom. He loved her so much that he wished he'd never come into her life. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would have been better off without him.

He was writing another suicide note to her now, chewing on the cap of the pen as he scribbled.

_Just so you know, the best part of my life and everything after was knowing you. I never wanted to be a better person until I met you. I wish I could go away forever Violet, you have no idea how much I do. I wish I could die and go to Hell, leaving you alone so you wouldn't have to be sad anymore. If I could, I'd send you one more letter from there - just one more - just to let you know that no matter how awful it was, how much pain and torment I experienced there, I was happy - because for once, I felt like I finally did the right thing._

_I love you. Always. _

_Tate_

And with that, he stood up and walked to the window of the attic, diving gracefully onto the pavement below.

* * *

**May 6, 2018**

She read all of his letters. Every single one. Every time he'd make another fruitless attempt at his life, it would call her back from her dreamless sleep and she'd appear at the scene of the crime. She'd read the letters he wrote and watch his bone and tissue fuse back together, watch him reanimate. As soon as life started to twitch through his limbs she'd vanish, reappearing in the crawlspace with a choking sob. She'd cry until she ran out of tears and then she'd fade into nothingness until he'd call her back for the afternoon performance.

There was no relief in oblivion, only more pain. She was always called back to him. What made her sad, what made her sick to her stomach, was that the first emotion she always felt upon her return was relief. She was nervous that someone new would come in the house and turn his head or that he'd one day wake up and magically just be over her - or even worse, that he'd manage to do what he was trying accomplish and cross over to whatever was waiting for him on the other side. There was no way of marking time while she drifted away into the darkness, no way of knowing how long she had been gone. It could be weeks, it could be months - hell, it could even be years. Nobody had seen the exterminator since he'd helped to rid the house of the first living inhabitants, back when anybody still gave enough of a shit to put in the effort. So when Tate unconsciously called Violet back after a handful of hours she was always relieved that he craved her still.

Today, she was sitting at the foot of the bathtub, reading through his latest suicide note and holding his hand in hers as blood poured from his wrist. He had lost consciousness minutes before but hadn't bled out yet. Tears prickled at her eyes as she silently mouthed his words and felt his blood, warm and red, gush over her hand.

"Violet, you can't go on like this."

She jerked her head up and dropped Tate's hand, guiltily looking at her mother.

"Mom," she said sadly. "I'm sorry, I just -"

"I don't want to hear it, Violet," Vivien said harshly. "I'm sorry, but I don't. He's..." she shook her head. "He's not who I want you to be with."

"I know Mommy," Violet said, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, mom."

Vivien sighed. "Baby, I know," she said crouching next to her daughter. "It's so unfair that things turned out this way. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

Violet crawled into her mother's lap. Vivien laced her arms around her, holding her tight. "I'm sorry this happened to _you,"_ she said, crying.

Vivien stroked her hair. "I meant what I said, Violet. You can't go on like this."

"I know."

"I know you love him."

Violet's breath hitched. "I'm so sorry," she said through choking sobs. "I wish I didn't, mom. I'm so, so sorry."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

Vivien rocked her back and forth, holding her tightly. "So, I hate my daughter's boyfriend. It's not the first time in the history of the world that's happened, right?"

Violet looked up at her mother, and Vivien brushed the tears from her cheeks. "It's not like we'd be having big family get together's anyway," Vivien said. "You're entitled to live your life, Violet."

Violet started sobbing again. "Mom, I can't. I can't go back to him. Not after what he did to you."

Vivien held her tightly. "Well, that's up to you, baby." She pulled away slightly to look at her daughters face. "Violet, ever since the moment I knew I was going to have you, all I've wanted is your happiness. Every single moment of our life together I've lived and breathed for your happiness. And despite everything else that's changed, that's the one thing that hasn't. I'm not going to pretend that I'm thrilled that you love him, but I would never stand in the way of something that makes you happy. And you've grown up, now. You've got to live your life for you, not for me or your father."

Violet cried harder. "I love you, mom."

"I love you too, sweetheart. I love you too."

Tate startled them both as he drew in a rattling breath and sighed, exhaling for the last time. Violet wiped her eyes. "He'll be back soon," she whispered, looking her mother. "It doesn't take him as long to come back when he just bleeds out."

"Okay," Vivien said softly, sliding Violet off her lap. "Please think about what I said," she said, stroking her daughter's hair as she stood up. "And know that no matter what, I will always love you. Never forget that." She gave her shoulders a final squeeze, leaving her alone to nuzzle into Tate's lifeless hand as she cried.

* * *

**July 1, 2018**

The weight of her absence felt like bricks in his soul, holding him down and making it hard to breathe. He slept at night because he felt like he should, because he was bored, and because while he didn't dream he did see her face briefly in the moments before he lost consciousness. Those thirty seconds that he saw her eyes and the brief groggy blank slate he had when he woke up were worth the crushing pain that always followed when he remembered that she was gone and that he was alone.

He slept in their old room, burying his face in a pillow that he had wrapped in one of her old sweaters. I didn't smell like her anymore but he still liked the feel of it against his face. He knew it was pathetic and made him a pussy but he couldn't find it in himself to give a fuck.

He knew it was late when he woke up, the house had already thrummed to life. The old couple never came into the guest bedroom, not that he'd give a shit if they did. They were old, they'd just pass it off as some hallucination or mental lapse after he'd vanish into thin air. He groaned and rolled over, pressing his cheek into the cotton of the sweater.

"Jesus, get up already. I've been waiting for you forever."

His eyes squeezed shut. If this was a dream, it was a really good fucking dream, and there was no fucking way he was ready to wake up yet.

He rocked forward when a pillow hit the back of his head. "Up, fucker! Up!"

"Violet?" he whispered, eyes still closed, suddenly afraid that he _was_ dreaming and that she wasn't really there.

She sighed. "I think all those third story swan dives are starting to cause permanent damage," she said. "Yes, it's me. Can you get up, please? I've had your hand dealt for hours now."

He rolled over and opened his eyes. She was sitting cross legged on the floor, the cards spread out in front of her. Her hair hung down her shoulders. She was wearing a purple dress, wrinkled, over leggings and a t-shirt and under a sweater. Her left sneaker was untied, the dirty shoelace lying on the floor.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She gestured to the cards on the floor. "Come on. Play with me."

He slowly got out of bed and gingerly sat on the floor across from her. "You left," he said bluntly, blinking at her.

Her face softened. "Yeah, I know," she said softly. "I had to. It just... it just got too hard."

"What did?"

"You. Us."

Tate swallowed. "Because I'm a monster," he whispered. It was the truth, he knew. He wished it wasn't.

"Yeah. But because I'm a monster, too."

He shook his head vehemently. "You're not," he said firmly. "You're kind, and smart, and -"

"I'm a monster because even after everything you've done, I still want to be with you, Tate. I'm a monster because I still want to be with you even thought I know that me wanting that hurts my mom."

The proof that he had changed was in the pudding. Every word she was saying should have made him overjoyed. Every word should have made his heart lighter, fuller. Instead he felt sad, because he knew how much it was hurting her that she felt this way.

"I'm sorry," he said solemnly.

She sighed. "I know."

"I don't know if it matters, but I've changed," he said, smiling sadly. "Better late than never, right?"

She bit her lip. "I've changed, too. So what if we could... I don't know. Start over? Start fresh? No secrets, no bullshit this time?"

His head snapped up. "Do you think we could?"

She shrugged. "Why not? Hell, look at my parents. They've managed to do it, and they're stuck in the house with my dad's fucking mistress for all eternity. If they can make it work, why can't we?"

His face lit up in a genuine smile this time. "Yeah. Yes. I mean, we can start over. I'd like that." He swallowed. "I missed you so much, Vi."

She smiled. "I missed you, too. But let's go slow, okay? We've got all the time in the world. We don't need to rush things."

"Okay," he nodded seriously. He wasn't going to screw this up. Whatever she wanted, it was hers.

She stuck out her hand. "Hi. I'm Violet. I'm dead. Wanna hook up?"

He grinned and shook her hand, feeling tingles at her touch. "Hi. I'm Tate. I'm dead too. Nice to meet you."

She smiled and he felt his heart heal, stitch back together in all the ways it had broken before, when she didn't let go of his hand and instead laced her fingers through his. She held on as she picked up her cards, leaning back and holding them close to her chest. "No peeking," she teased.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said happily.

* * *

**October 31, 2018**

Time heals all wounds.

It had been seven years since Violet had learned the truth about Tate, and four months since she had decided that some things weren't worth caring about anymore. She'd never forgive Tate for what he did to her mother, but she had forgiven herself for loving him anyway. None of the people in the murder house were a saint, they were all sinners in their own way. Forgiveness. It wasn't something they could give each other, but they could give it to themselves. They could decide to be better than, more than the weight of their combined offenses and start over. Maybe the ability to forgive themselves was the only gift the Murder House could give in exchange for taking so much.

Violet's mother had been right. Violet had no idea how much being away from Tate had been maiming what was left of her soul until she fell back into his arms and felt the pieces of herself fuse back together. Love makes you do crazy things, but it can heal, too. It healed Violet The closer she and Tate got, the promise of eternity in the house started to feel less like a burden and more like a blessing.

Tate had never been so happy. Things were so much better now. When they were together before, every moment of beauty between them was undercut with a ripple of fear. What if she found out? What if she figured out that he was dead, a murderer, a rapist, a monster? Now she knew. There were no secrets left to keep, no reason to worry that some skeleton buried deeply in a closet would spring out and make her run away. Now, there was him and her and the knowledge that they're both a little fucked up but not so fucked up that they can't find a happily ever after of their own making.

They've taken things slow, comically slow considering the fact that Violet already knew how hot Tate's dick felt when it's inside of her and that Tate knew exactly how her knees shake when she cums. After weeks of holding hands, they started sleeping in the same bed at night - nothing sexual, just holding each other as they dreamed. They spent more and more time with their arms wrapped around each other until they finally had their "first" kiss on a blanket spread out on the floor of the attic while they watched the Labor Day fireworks going off in the distance. Since then, there had been more making out and even some light groping but nothing anywhere south of PG-13.

Violet knew that taking things slow was her idea but she was beginning to regret ever having it. The ache between her thighs was only getting stronger with time, and every episode of necking on blankets and beds was only leaving her more frustrated. Tate was desperate to go further but the last thing he wanted to do was push Violet too far, too fast. Either way, both of them were ready to take the next step and so they both decided, separately and secretly, that the seven year anniversary of their first date and the seventeen year anniversary of a date that neither of them even remember having would be the day that they finally fell back together again.

Halloween morning dawned bright and sunny, warm for late October. Tate knew what typical first dates consisted off - nights out in restaurants, holding hands in a movie theater, walking up and down the hallways of a gallery somewhere. None of those things seemed particularly "Violet" to him, and he wanted more than anything for the day to be amazing. He wanted to give her what their first date could have and should have been.

Shortly after he had woken up, he'd gone over to Constance's house. He knew that she wouldn't be there. Every year, his mother took Michael out of town for Halloween. It apparently made her nervous to have the dead parents of the little boy she stole released from their prison. There were too many secrets that Constance was still trying to keep, not to mention the possibility that Hayden or Nora or whatever female ghost in the house was currently jonsing for a child would kidnap him, kill him, and keep him in the house forever. So, early in the morning on October 30th a cab would pick them up and whisk them off to the airport. They wouldn't come back until the second or third of November.

The door was locked, but it was easy enough for Tate to lift the window and slip in through the kitchen, foot landing in the sink. He swung his other leg through and closed the window behind him. He didn't bother to get down from the counter, just raised to a standing position to reach up to the cookie jar above the cabinet.

Constance didn't believe in banks, Tate knew. She still paid all her bills by mail with money orders she got from the supermarket. All the cash she got from social security and the disability checks and pension that Larry still forwarded along to her was wound into rubber-banded bundles that she kept in the cookie jar. Tate smiled, pulling out one of the tightly wrapped rolls. There was easily five hundred dollars in crisp twenties in the little bundle. He tossed it into the air and grinned, and smiled wider as his eyes fell on the keys to Constance's Cadillac, hanging on a hook by the door.

An hour later, he was driving through the streets of LA, the window rolled down and the warm air blowing through his hair. He had a plan. First, he was going to get all the foods that Violet loved the most. The old couple had left LA for the fall and winter to stay at a chalet in Colorado instead, so there hadn't been food in the house for a long, long time. It didn't matter - none of them _needed_ to eat, but that didn't mean they didn't like to. Then, they were going to take advantage of the fact that they had a car and could go far, far away - farther then his former victims could reach on foot - and go to an outdoor zombie movie screening at a cemetery. He grinned as he thought of their plans. Unique, fun, and a little fucked up. Just like the girl he loved.

Violet was just as determined as Tate was to make their day special. She had gone through her dresses over and over, growing more and more dissatisfied with her wardrobe before The Dahlia had come in to help her. Normally, it would be a mother's job to help their daughter prepare for a date, but considering the situation it wasn't exactly something Violet was willing to ask for. It didn't matter, in the end. Elizabeth was kind and fun and was almost like having a big sister. She had lent Violet one of her dresses - retro and cool but not too fancy or girly - and had wound her wet hair around empty soda cans so it had dried in waves that fell around her shoulders. As Violet slipped her Chuck Taylor's on, Elizabeth had pulled a section of her hair back, securing it with a bobby pin.

"Wait," Violet said. She walked over to the potted orchid Tate had given her seven years ago and plucked a blossom from the plant. "Here," she said shyly, handing the flower to Elizabeth. "Can you pin this in my hair?"

"Of course," the Dahlia said kindly, pinning the flower above Violet's ear.

Now, Violet was fidgeting in the room she shared with Tate. As stupid as it was, she was nervous. After tonight there would be no going back. They'd be together in every way. Going through with what she had planned meant officially letting go of everything in their past, every crime. It might not mean forgiveness, but it would mean resolution. It wasn't that she wasn't ready to move on - she was - but knowing that she would be back with Tate with no foreseeable end to their relationship made her feel excited and scared all at the same time.

She was jolted out of her thoughts by the doorbell. She smirked, remembering that Halloween would naturally mean trick-or-treaters. Most of the kids avoided the Murder House - it's reputation preceded it, for sure - but there was always a brave kid who rang the doorbell, just to say that he did it. She bounded down the stairs, planning on scaring the shit out of the kid by disappearing after she opened the door, but froze when she flung the door open to find Tate on the other side.

He didn't gasp when he saw her... well, not out loud anyway. She looked gorgeous. Grown up. And even though it was fucking stupid, he felt the slight sting of tears in his eyes. This girl, this perfect girl still wanted him after everything they had gone through. She wanted him despite everything he had done. She wanted him even though he didn't even come close to deserving her. It was almost too much for him to take.

"You look beautiful," he blurted, a red tinge heating his cheeks.

She blushed and rolled her eyes. "Why did you ring the doorbell?" she asked, not responding to his compliment even though she was reeling inside.

"We're on a date," he said sheepishly, shrugging. "The boy is supposed to pick the girl up, right?"

Violet grinned. "Yeah, I guess," she said, stepping out on to the porch. "Although I think it only counts as 'picking me up' if you have a car."

He smirked at her. "Oh, I've got that covered," he said, leading her down the stairs to the driveway. "Here. Courtesy of Constance."

Violet surveyed the old caddy and smiled. "Nice," she said. Tate's face lit up, happy to have pleased her, and walked around to the passenger side to open the door for her. He climbed into the drivers side and said a silent thank-you that Constance was out of town and had such an old car when Violet slid across the bench seat to cuddle beside him as they drove to the cemetery.

Violet had been pleasantly surprised when she had found out where they were going. She'd been even more giddy when he'd pulled Sakko rolls from her favorite sushi place, Portobello ravioli from the Italian restaurant near their house, and chocolate stout cake from the bakery near the high school out of a canvas bag he had swiped from Constance's house. Tate couldn't keep the smile off his face at the way Violet had nibbled on everything, rhapsodizing about how good it had all tasted. After they were done eating, she climbed in his lap and rested her head against his chest as they watched the movie together. For the first time, they both felt like they had died and gone to heaven instead of hell.

After the movie was over they climbed back into the Cadillac. "Where to now?" Tate asked, pulling out of the parking lot. Violet was pressed against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She bit her lip nervously. "Can we go to the beach?" she asked, and felt him tense beneath her. "Not the same place," she added hastily. "Somewhere different. It's just... it was nice, lying on the sand and listening to the waves with you."

He smiled at her. "Sure," he said softly, sliding his arm around her waist. "There's a place that I used to go sometimes that we can go to. It's further away, so I never went there too much." He left unsaid that it would be too far for the uninvited guests on their last date to find them.

She hadn't been paying attention to where they were as they walked down the beach, too nervous and excited and focused on the feel of his arm around her shoulders instead. Tate had tried to hide the fact that his hands were shaking when he laid the blanket out on the sand, covering by smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in the soft fleece. When they lay down on the blanket and he leaned over her for a kiss, he felt her shiver.

"Cold?" he murmured in her ear, feeling her shake below him again.

"No," she said, her eyes flicking up from his lips to his eyes. "Nervous."

He ran his hands up and down her arms. "Violet," he said gently. "Look at me." She steadfastly avoided his eyes, staring at his mouth instead. He reached down, lifting her chin with his finger. "_Look_ at me," he said again as her eyes found his. "Violet, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he reassured her.

"I know. I want to. I'm just nervous, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said firmly. "I want you, Tate. You. Just you."

It was more than enough to make his dick spring to life inside his jeans. He crashed his lips against hers, his tongue teasing hers. She sighed softly against his mouth, feeling heat spread from her stomach to her chest to between her legs. He ran his hand over the soft silk of the dress and over her breasts, making her gasp. When he felt her hard nipple against his hand, he knew she wasn't wearing a bra.

He traced the flower in her hair and smiled at her, recognizing where it had come from. He sat up and pulled his sweater over his head, leaning back down to nibble on her earlobes and neck. He pressed his lips against her soft flesh, marking her as his while his hands came between them to work the buttons on her dress. She felt her skin heat up as the last button came undone, opening the dress in the middle and leaving her exposed below him.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against her skin. He pulled her nipple between his teeth and felt her stomach contract. He kissed down, inching lower and lower until he was hovered above the soft silk of her panties.

"Can I?" he asked, eyes glittering in the darkness. "Fuck, yes," Violet breathed, hips rising to meet him.

He kissed her thigh, down to her calf, down to her ankle as he pulled her panties over her legs. He crawled up her body, leaning down and running his tongue over the soft skin of her slit.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," she moaned, her hips grinding down on his face. She felt him smile against her folds, felt the vibrations from his chuckle roll off his tongue and onto her clit. Her legs started to shake along side his face, his hair tickling her thighs. It felt so fucking good. How had she gone so long without this? The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile as she realized that she'd never have to go without him again.

She was nearly there, Tate knew, but he pulled away from her cunt and leaned back. She gave a small growl of displeasure. "Asshole," she muttered, and he laughed. He planned on spending every day of the rest of his existence licking her until she cried and begged but _this _time, this first time, he wanted them to reach ecstacy together. He wanted to feel her cum around his cock, wanted to know that the reason she had reached her peak was because he was buried inside her.

He unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down his legs, taking his boxers along with them. He positioned himself over her, lining up their bodies, and cupped the back of her head in his hand.

"I love you," he said, gazing into her eyes.

Violet's eyes filled with unshed tears. She felt her heart contract in her chest. "I..." she took a deep breath, blinking the tears away to stare back at him. Here it was, the moment of truth. The point that there'd be no going back from. Amazingly, she found that she wasn't afraid anymore.

"I love you too, Tate."

And now it was his eyes that were wet, his heart that was pounding in his chest. He never thought he'd ever hear her say those words again. He kissed her gently this time, running his tongue along her lower lip and pushing his body into hers.

He felt even better than she remembered. She arched her back into him, trying to get him closer, deeper. His one hand held her head, pressing their foreheads together. His other hand was between their bodies, working her clit as he rocked his hips against hers. She breathed little puffs of air into his mouth, muttering incoherent syllables. Her thighs shook harder as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

"Tate... Tate, please," she begged.

"Violet," he groaned. His hips snapped against hers and he pressed his fingers against her clit harder and she came, stars forming behind her eyes. She clenched around him and he exploded into her, his hips jerking unsteadily as she pulled everything he had deep inside her core.

He rolled off of her, lying beside her on the blanket. She turned her head to look at him, and smiled. "I meant it," she said simply, reaching down to hold his hand in hers. "I know," he said happily, wiggling closer to her so he could feel her skin against his.

It was getting late. He'd have to get them home soon, before the sun came up. He pulled his jeans back on and then leaned down, kissing his way up Violet's skin as he redid the buttons on her dress. He fastened the last button and kissed her nose, making her smile.

"I'm tired," she admitted, running her hands through his hair.

"I know," he smiled, leaning down and scooping her into his arms. She made a noise of protest but then sighed, nuzzling into his neck. He reached down for the blanket and his sweater and started back towards the car, holding her close as he carried her over the sand.

She looked around and noticed the small circle of boulders and the little cave they made. She thought of her vacation, years ago, to California and Disneyland. She smiled, vaguely remembering playing cards with the boy on the beach years before. "I think I've been here before," she muttered, leaning her head to rest on his chest again.

Tate chuckled. The closer Violet got to falling asleep, the more she babbled and the less sense she made. He remembered the last time he'd come here. He'd met that little girl... Alice, he thought her name was. He smiled. She'd be old by now. Married with kids, probably. He hoped that wherever she was, she was happy.

They made their way across the sand, going home to the Murder House. It wasn't a prison, not anymore. It might not have been perfect, it might not have been the stuff of fairy tales, but it was their love story. They left the ocean behind, the site of all their first dates, and went home to start living their happy ending.

* * *

**RECS: **

First and foremost - **anything and everything from the AHS exchange on livejournal. **I'd recommend them all but we'd be here all night.

Secondly - **OhYellowBird** wrote another amazing story called _Tomorrow Will Be Kinder__. _It's similar and yet completely different to her other incredible story, _Poison and Wine. _Read and review both, and don't forget to check out our collab, _The Curve of Her Lips _(and for those already reading, update is coming! WE SWEAR! And not to tease you, but chapter 9 is crazy bananas hot...).

**Gimmedanger** is working on the incredibly inventive and brilliantly written _Touching From A Distance_. It's fucking AMAZING, seriously. It's looking at the canon post-finale world in a way that's never been done before, I'm wild about it, and waiting for the next chapter (which she has said will be the last) is driving me mad.

**ShootingStella** grows as a writer a little bit more in every story she writes and one of her latest is absolutely her best yet - _Latex I Love You's._ I love pre-finale stories, I think it's a time period we don't play with enough, and this story is brilliant. She's also done a follow-up to _We Are Golden_ called _Senior Moments._ I won't explain why it's awesome because it would be spoiling We Are Golden if you haven't read it yet, but you should read it. Now.

**Loginandgetresults **_The Porn Deal _might be one of my favorite things. Ever. Hot, fun, funny, AND angsty. It's got it all, PLUS CHAD. You all know how much I love my Chad.

**Chinese Bakery**'s _The Biggest Joke of All _is fantastic and angsty and sweet and all around perfect.

**Captivation**'s _100 _is so. fucking. good. I love it so much, it's crazy hot and emotional and I hope that enough people have convinced her to make it more than a one-shot because it's too good for just one chapter.

I think that's it! Got a Tate and Moira fic in the works... don't worry, it's pre-Harmon's. Moira's just too hot for me not to write doing smutty things (insert evil laugh here).


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